


Blinded in Trust

by silent_nyx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gangbang, Hell, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15520434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silent_nyx/pseuds/silent_nyx
Summary: Repost from my never anymore used LiveJournal...VERY DARK/VIOLENT GRAPHIC NON-CONRating: NC-17Pairings: Dean/OMCs, vague mentions of Sam/DeanWord Count: ~15000 completed ficSpoilers: set between Abandon All Hope and Two Minutes to MidnightSummary: Dean finds himself immersed in darkness and at the mercy of an old enemy.Warnings: Dark!fic, Explicit non-con, gangbang, Hurt!Dean, torture, mentions of hell, languageDisclaimer: I own nothing but my twisted imagination...Authors Note: First semi-long fic! This one corrupted my brain and I'm totally nervous about it but I hope you all enjoy it! Fic is unbeta'd so errors of all varieties are solely mine. Comments are love!!  Enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

An intensely oppressive heat was the first thing that seeped into Dean’s vague awareness. The air surrounding him was like oil, thick and hot, making each breath difficult. The musty smell of dirt and stagnant water filled his senses as he sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear his throbbing head. He worked his tongue around his parched mouth, trying to collect moisture; tasting copper and salt instead. Fuck. Darting his tongue out to wet his dry lips, he tasted more copper there. Blood; it was all he could taste, he smelled of it, felt the thick, sticky quality heavily coating his face. Pressing his eyes tightly shut, he winced at the swollen heat, willing the strength to simply lift the oppressive weight that sealed them closed…but they refused to open. A tinge of panic sparked in his stomach and surged up into his chest, his heart beginning to race. He jerked his arms up, trying to reach whatever was wrapped around his eyes and sealing out the light, but was stopped short by a lancing heat that coursed up his arms and across his shoulders. He groaned deeply; breathing through the pain as waves of nausea began rolling in his stomach. 

Ok, one thing at a time, he had to move; to reacquaint himself with his limbs and body that felt so completely detached from his foggy mind. He tried to move his arms; to simply locate them alongside his body, twitching his fingers. They felt thick and numb, his wrists stinging as they rubbed against something rough and prickly. His arms were throbbing, shoulders stretched at an awkward angle for far to long. Great, hands tied behind back. This can’t be good. 

Only moving a fraction of an inch at a time, Dean rolled slightly back, hoping he was near a wall or something solid that would support his weight and help him sit up. He tilted back until his bare shoulder scrapped against a coarse, jagged wall. Sliding his legs in front of him for leverage, he lifted himself up and into a sitting position, his head swimming at the change in altitude; his stomach twisting, vehemently protesting the movement. He sat as still as possible, breathing deeply for what felt like five minutes at least, trying to acclimate himself to his semi-vertical position. Concussion; fucking phenomenal. What the hell happened? 

“Sammy!” He croaked out, head snapping up, his mind instantly clearing. He listened intently, holding his breath in the darkness and trying to slow the pounding in his head so he could hear. “Sammy?” His voice sounded like he had spent the night swallowing sandpaper. He attempted to clear his throat, tasting remnants of blood. “Sam!?!” His waited, listening, ears reaching out to every corner of whatever godforsaken room he was in, searching every nook, listening for the familiar sound of Sam’s deep breathing. He heard nothing but the steady drip of water in the far side of the room and the thud of his own heart. Sam wasn’t here. Thank God. He sighed in exhausted relief, leaning back against the cool of the concrete; soothing his aching muscles. The effort of acute focus for mere seconds sapping every ounce of limited energy he had. 

Dean needed to try and take stock of his current fucked up predicament; his hands were firmly bound, what felt like duct tape sealed his eyes shut and wrapped around his head, he had a decent concussion and his face was a bloody mess. His ribs ached, definitely not broken but banged up pretty good, and he felt like he may have dislocated a knuckle. Okay, next… shirt suspiciously absent, socks and shoes gone but the tops of his feet felt raw. Running his left foot over his right he flinched at the dull ache, the skin felt vaguely like road rash; he must have been dragged at some point. Damn it. He was blindfolded and bound, sitting on his ass with barely even enough strength to keep his head on his shoulders. Just great. Hey at least he still had his jeans on. 

Dean searched his memory, trying to conjure up some idea of what had happened and how he ended up in what he thought was a hot, dank basement from the smells and sounds of the place. He must have fought back at some point, for all the good it apparently did him. Gently shaking his head, he tried clearing away the cobwebs; regretting the motion instantly but grasping at fleeting glimpses of a memory. 

He had been at the bar, needing a break from the constant clicking keys of Sam’s laptop as he poured over the research from their current hunt. The reason why they were in this bum-fuck of a town in the first place. Cause god knows, they would never choose to vacation in a town with a temp of 96 and high humidity. Sam was getting tired of him complaining of exactly that and suggested he hit up the local watering hole for a while. And that’s where he had been, downing Kamikaze shots with a beautiful southern bell…ok so maybe she was more of the trailer trash beauty variety, but hey, a diamond in the ruff was still a diamond in his book, and she was smokin. He remembered having one to many, feeling a little sick and then, lights out and he woke up in this fucking furnace. God it was hot!

His head snapped up at the distinct sound of metal scrapping against metal as a bolt was turned and a door creaked open. The sound was coming from across the room and higher than if the door was on his level. Must have been the staircase leading down to the basement. He heard heavy footfalls descending the stairs, his breathing ratcheting up a notch with each step. 

“Good morning Dean,” a deep voice called out, breaching the silence of the space with a tone way to cheery for his liking, “Did you sleep well?” 

The man chuckled to himself as he came closer, circling to Dean’s left, and annoying out of reach should Dean attempt to try anything…not that he could do much, but he sure as hell was planning on taking advantage of any opportunity. 

Dean shifted slightly, pulling his legs closer to himself and trying to face this man head on, the darkness closing in on him, making him feel acutely vulnerable. “What the fuck is this?” Dean demanded as forcefully as he could with his tortured voice, “Who are you?” Damn, he’d kill for a drop of water. 

“None of that concerns you.”

Dean furrowed his brow at that, “Doesn’t concern me? How the hell doesn’t it concern me!?!” Dean’s mind raced; landing immediately on Sam…it concerns Sam. Panic stirred in his gut and he lowered his voice, “You better not lay a fucking finger on my brother you son of a bitch! You hear me!” 

“Easy,” the man hummed at him. Dean flinched back and lightly smacked his head against the wall. The man was closer than he was a second ago, beginning to significantly invaded his personal space. 

“It’s not Sam you should be worried about Dean. My boss just has a little proposal for him and you can go on your way. But personally,” He leaned in closer. Dean turned his head away, shuttering as hot breath ghosted across his cheek, “I hope little brother needs some…convincing.” 

Damn it, he was bait. And this sick fuck was going to take it out on his ass if Sam says no to whatever the hell they wanted.

Dean leaned back into the man’s space, making his voice as steady and as hard as he could, “I’ll say it again, you touch my brother and I’ll kill you, I swear to god,” he quirked an eyebrow and nodded towards the general direction of the man’s crotch, “and if your little fella makes an appearance…I’ll fuckin bite it in half!”

A deep, dark laugh bellowed out of the man. “Like I said, I won’t be touching your brother Dean. Not my type,” he inched closer, voice heavy with lust and anticipation, “but you Dean, that pretty little ass of yours just begs to be fucked.” 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean muttered under his breath as the man advanced on him. He kicked out with his legs; just grazing the man’s knee, not having enough space to get significant force behind the kick. He scrambled to move fast, to get on his feet where he would have at least some advantage, but he was too sluggish, not even making it to his knees before the man rushed him and hit him hard across his battered face. Stars burst into his vision and his head cracked against the floor, nearly knocking him unconscious. 

He could hear the man sauntering towards him, chuckling darkly as he watched Dean struggle to drag his heavy body across the floor and away from this sick son of a bitch. Dean felt so impossibly weak, chest heaving with the effort and the fact that he couldn’t see the fucker coming flooded him with an overwhelming panic that began making its presence known with an acute intensity. 

“And just where do you think you’re going baby,” the man leaned down and grabbed Dean with both hands by the waist of his jeans on either side of his hips. Dean felt his hands and arms scrape against the floor as he was dragged towards the man. His efforts at fighting back were easily thwarted, his strength completely sapped. The man straddled him, pinning his hips to the floor as he quickly worked to undo Dean’s jeans. 

“Get the fuck off me!” Dean cried out, kicking and twisting to get out of the man’s grasp. But he was bigger than Dean was, stocky and strong, with large hands that slapped his face and pinned him down. Then, he was suddenly, and effortlessly, flipped onto his stomach.

“I’ll kill you, I swear to god!” Dean wanted to beg, to plead with the man not to rape him, not to tear him apart from the inside out, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Pain he could handle, but the humiliation of begging to a fucking dick like this; that he couldn’t stomach. So he fought; he kicked and cussed and tried to roll away but with his hands securely bound and a concussion threatening to claim his consciousness, he couldn’t even begin to gain the upper hand. 

The man’s nails scrapped across his skin as his jeans and boxers were dragged off his hips and tossed away. Dean felt the hot, muggy air caress his bare ass and rough dirt rubbing against his dick as he struggled. Heat flushed his face and blossomed down his neck. God, was he fucking blushing! He was completely mortified at the thought, shame consuming him as he was forcibly exposed. 

Excruciating pain suddenly lit fire up his arms as his sense of direction spun on its axis. He was forced up onto his knees; arms stretched brutally upwards behind him. If he was capable of seeing, he would have been looking directly at his own dick and bare thighs. 

“What the fuck?” Dean gasped out through pained breaths, the position constricting his battered ribs and making it nearly impossible to breath. The man had taken his bound wrists and hooked them up to what was most likely a chain hanging from the ceiling. The angle forced his head down; sending sharp stabs of white hot pain into his shoulders and back. He tried to stand up to relieve the pressure but grunted in pain and nearly ripped his arms out of their sockets when a kick landed directly above his kidney. 

“Stay down you little bitch! Pain is kinda the point.” Dean fought to breath as he listened to the man riffle through something at the other end of the basement. Every muscle in his body tensing as he heard the footsteps approaching him again. The man was chuckling to himself as he knelt behind him, “This will be sure to keep that fuck-able ass of yours open for the taking…nice and easy access.” Dean flinched away as hard leather encircled each thigh; a bar connecting the two straps and holding his knees spread wide. Dean heard the clinking of metal as the man led a chain from the bar to a hook in the floor; forcing him to kneel and making it impossible to stand. 

Dean’s mind was scrambling; building walls around itself, locking down pain and shame, drawing in the fear that pervaded to the very edges of his being.

“You look a little baffled Dean,” the man breathed into his ear, leaning against the firm contours of his taut back, “thought I was gonna fuck your ass open didn’t you.” Dean shuttered as the man ran his hand down his thigh, caressing the leather that held him securely in place. “In time, Dean. You’ve just gotta be a little more patient.” Dean sucked in a sharp breath, twisting in his restraints, as the man ran his finger up the crack of his ass; pressing at his entrance and inserting just the tip. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Dean cried out as the man pulled out his finger and smacked his bare ass. Utter humiliation surged through his gut, sending waves of adrenaline coursing through his system with no means for release. He hung from his arms, spread wide and trembling with rage as he listened to the man walk back up the creaky staircase and locking the door behind him, laughing the entire way. 

“The fuck?” Dean gasped out, trying to slow his breathing and get his heart rate back under control. 

He was certain that he was quite literally fucked; and still may very well be for that matter. But for now…for now, he could focus on dealing with simple pain. And there was enough to go around. Dean’s arms were pulled back as far as his muscles would allow without dislocating his shoulders, the rope around his wrists was drawn tight; cutting off his circulation and tearing into the skin. He could feel heat and pressure against his left eye, he doubted he would have been able to see out of it even if there wasn’t fucking tape wrapped tight around his eyes. His bottom lip was split and dribbling blood down his chin; his entire body aching bone deep. Even his knees hurt as they ground into the gritty concrete floor. The most unbearable part of his current degrading position though, was the fact that his dick hung free between his legs and his ass was spread wide; everything on display and oh so vulnerable.

Dean cringed; knowing the man that strung him up was very much intending on putting his filthy dick in his ass at some point and who knows what else. Sam better find his sorry ass, and soon. Then they can kill these sick fucks and get the hell outta dodge. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean had forced himself to settle into his bindings what seemed like hours ago; breathing deeply, leaning into the strain on his muscles, relishing in the warmth that would occasionally flow over his numb arms as his muscled were forced to tear slightly further under the weight of his body. He tried to disconnect his mind; letting it wander to dreams and memories of Sammy, motel rooms and crappy diner food as he blindly made little patterns with the blood and sweat that dripped off his face and onto the floor. Listening to the little ‘plunk’ and gauging where to place the next drop of sweat. He let his mind drift and play, gliding in and out of consciousness like a fog that rolled in off the ocean and blew back out again as his focus on reality cleared; only to again roll over him and snuff out all thoughts of sharp pain and dull ache. 

Something had caused that blissfully dense fog to begin to rapidly disperse; his mind clearing and racing to identity an ominous threat that hung around him. Dean’s thoughts distractedly lingered on the sensation of a warm trickle sliding down is arms, brow furrowing as he tried to distinguish the cause. A sluggish smile playing on his lips as his mind slowly registered that blood was lazily coursing down his arms; the rope cutting deep into his wrists. It tickled.

Dean’s head snapped sharply to the side, his focus sharpening at the stinging sensation on his cheek.  
“You with us bitch?” The man’s voice boomed over him, too loud yet seemingly so distant as blood pounded in his ears, making it difficult to hear. He shook his head slightly, knowing all to well that his attention was demanded in the here and now. 

“Rise and shine!” Another voice cheerily called to him, “Time to give Sam a little taste of what happens when he doesn’t play nice.” The men laughed around him; he could identify about three different pitches in the room, thus three men as far as he could tell.

“Nick, don’t just sit there rubbing out your dick! Turn the camera on!”

A small, desperate noise caught in his throat. Dean swallowed hard, trying to choke it back down to the pit of his stomach where it belonged. He was going to be recorded…strung up, beaten and bare ass naked. Dean was horrified. Sammy was going to see this; whatever this was. 

“Camera’s linked up to the internet Dean. Little brother’s gonna get a hi-def live action replay.”

Dean needed to tell Sam he was ok, to keep his head and be smart, that no matter how bad this got, not to rush in here guns blazing unless he knew he could walk back out. 

“Saaam-,’ he breathlessly tried to choke out through his parched, aching throat. We’ll that sure didn’t sound as confident as he’d planned. 

A huge fist slammed into the side of his face, “Keep your mouth shut you little bitch!” 

“Now, now Cole, it’s alright,” the man who had strung him up seemed to be in charge, “he can scream for his baby brother all he wants. Won’t make any difference. Hell, it may even make for a more amusing show.”

Dean concentrated on his breathing again, slow and steady through his nose as panic, rage and humiliation quickened his heartbeat; threatening to send his exhausted mind into oblivion. 

“Enough foreplay,” Dean quirked his head as he tried to look towards the new voice in the room, a woman’s voice. Every muscle in his body coiled impossibly tighter as he heard her approach him, the clicking of her heals echoing in the hollowed out room. 

“You don’t recognize my voice Dean?” Dean searched his memory, trying to link the voice to a face when it slammed into him. He huffed out a surprised breath, “You’re the girl at the bar.” Rage slowly filled his entire body as the pieces began falling into place. “You drugged me. That the only way you can keep a man you crazy ass bitch?” Silence met his ears as the only response. Guess she’s not in the mood to play games. “What the hell do you want from Sam?”

“What I’ve always wanted from him.”

“Always wanted? Who the fuck are you?” 

“Meg.” Ah, shit.

Dean’s breathing quickened, his hair prickling across his body as a wave of cold washed over him. “Why Dean, you don’t look very happy to see me…well, hear me,” Meg cooed, voice laden with amusement, her joyful laughter tainted with malice filling the thick air in the room and grating on his ears. Damn, he already wanted to slap that shit-eating grin off her face. He couldn’t see it but he knew it was there…it always was. 

“Meg,” Dean huffed out in a laugh, “You just can’t live without us can you. Dependent little bitch.”

He tried to shift as she glided towards him, having nowhere to go, no place to escape her oppressive presence. He jerked his head away as he felt her hand graze across his cheek. She ran her fingers through the sweaty spikes of his hair, down the side of his face, her thumb caressing the tape across his eyes. She laughed deep in her throat as she circled behind him; her hand gliding over his sweat slicked skin, across his chest, up his bicep and coiled arms. She paused at his wrists, leaning forward and licking at the salty, torn skin beneath his bindings, humming at the taste of blood. Dean couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through his body. He felt her smile at his back, her hand running across the knotted muscles and down his bruised sides. She paused when she reached his hip bones; crouching down, she straddled his legs, hands pressed against the sides of his ass and slowly sliding down to the thigh spreaders. He could feel her emotions emanating off her; pressing against him. She was very pleased. 

“Well, don’t you look pretty all trussed up,” her voice like molten lava, breath hot against the back of his neck, “time for a little payback Dean.”

She reached around his waist and grabbed his balls, “So, here’s how this is gonna play out,” she began conversationally as she began squeezing and twisting violently. Dean about jumped out of his skin, “Fuckin hell!” He groaned, gritting his teeth against the vice like grip she had on the family jewels. 

“We’re going to send Sammy our little video of his big brother writhing in pain, and he agrees to my terms,” Dean wanted to ask, ‘What fucking terms?’ but it only came out as a questioning grunt. She got the hint. 

Fingers deftly playing up his shaft, his dick twitching in response, she answered simply, “Servitude.” 

Dean’s head tilted to the side in question, wishing he could look her in the eye and gauge her expression, “Servitude?” He gasped, “What the hell are you talking about? Sam will never serve you!” 

She hummed at him, her thin fingers fondling his swelling cock and wringing out his balls. He could hear the men around him fidgeting as they watched, making small whimpering noises as they were most likely rubbing at the bulges that were hopefully still confined in their jeans. 

“You see, Sam possesses some incredible power; my father’s power,” Dean did not like where this was going, “Now…as you know…demon blood increases this power. But what you haven’t figured out yet is that the demon from which he drinks becomes intrinsically linked with Sam. That is of course as long as the demon remains topside and well…breathing.” A whimper finally escaped him as Meg yanked brutally on Dean’s cock, nearly standing at full attention. He was trying very hard to focus solely on her words and not his aching balls and that warm, familiar tingling growing in his gut…this was important damn it! 

“See, it wasn’t just Ruby’s perky ass that sent Sam into hormonal overdrive and willingly let himself be used as a weapon for the Dark Side fueled by demon blood…it corrupts the soul Dean. Makes him vulnerable to her suggestion. He practically had no choice but to bend to her will.” 

Anger sparked within Dean, warring with the fire building in his balls and burning up his dick. Sammy didn’t have a choice? Her blood corrupted his soul? That fucking bitch used his little brother like a fucking puppet with strings! ‘Nnnnuuuhhhh!!!’ Dean cried out, arching in pain as Meg ran a sharp nail up the underside of his swollen cock, “paying attention Dean?” 

Dean sucked air into his over-tasked lungs, focusing his mind, and gave a slight nod. 

“Good,” her deft fingers again moved to his balls, pulling and twisting as she continued, “You were right Dean. Lucifer wins and he’ll destroy us all, demons and humans alike. I want Sammy in my corner Dean. I want Sam to agree to drink my blood. The same blood that courses through his body. The blood he was meant to drink. The blood of my father. We’d be unstoppable.” 

“Like hell!” Dean twisted beneath her grip, trying to fling her off of him, seething at what she was suggesting. Under no circumstances was he going to let his brother be used by another fucking manipulative black-eyed bitch! 

Meg pressed tight against Dean’s back, her free hand circling around, palm firm against his chest…her other hand gripped his cock and squeezed, nails digging into the sensitive flesh. 

Dean pressed his eyes shut tight, feeling tears sting in the back of his eyes as his cock was brutalized by her long nails. Groaning in pain while teetering on the precipice of release; the burning in his gut reaching a climax. 

“This isn’t your call Dean. You’re sole purpose here is to inspire the right incentive for Sam,” she released his dick and swung around to face him. 

“He won’t do it Meg. And you know it. So what else do you fucking want?” 

She giggled, sliding her hand up his chest, “Oh don’t be so sure. And honestly Dean, I couldn’t resist the temptation to let you get fucked in the ass all night long.” She grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. Leaning in, she kissed up his neck and jawbone; nipping at his skin and stroking his dick to full attention once more. She grazed her thumb over the slit of his dick and up over the head, capturing his gasp with her mouth as she forced her tongue between his lips, plunging in deep and exploring the wet heat. She bit at his mouth, reopening the cut in his lip, humming as she licked at the seeping blood. She abruptly pulled back, still holding his head up as she watched him struggle for air. 

“God, Meg,” Dean gasped, “You really need to lay off the fucking peanut butter.” 

She growled deep in her throat and released his head, letting it fall back to his chest, a tiny smile playing on his lips. Might as well take the wins that he can…this is gonna get bloody. 

Dean tried to flinch away as Meg wrapped something that felt like soft leather around the base of his shaft and looping it around his aching balls, precum leaking out the tip as she cinched it tight. 

“Fuck! You little bitch!” Dean gasped, his balls full and aching, his dick pulsating against the tight strap, sending sparks of pleasure up his dick and igniting the fire in his gut. With each heart beat, his dick twitched and attempted to fill, prevented from any kind of release by the constricting cockstrap. 

“I was going to let you have a little fun too. But you always have to go and shoot off your mouth don’t you Dean.” Meg slapped at his throbbing cock as she stood up, heals clicking as she walked back up the stairs and calling over her shoulder, “Have fun boys!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horror, terror, fear; those were all things Dean was painfully familiar with. He knew how to cope with a demon pinning him to a wall, a werewolf slicing him bloody and leaving him for dead…even the fear of losing Sam had become a constant companion throughout his life. But what was making his stomach rot and bile burn the back of his throat was the sick depravity that hung thick in the room. These men, and not some fucking black-eyed mother fuckers either, but average men, had beat him bloody, strung him up and were ready to fuck his ass until he was torn to shreds; with fucking smiles on their faces no less. The evil that pervaded every corner of the room and pressed in heavy around him; that wasn’t coming from the demon that just walked out of the room, it was coming from them. And the fact that he was now the sole subject of their attention; that made him truly terrified. 

He could feel them close in around him, chuckling as they circled his battered, defenseless body. He could hear them unzipping jeans, shirts tossed to the floor, boots hitting the ground as they stripped down to nothing. 

“So fellas,” Dean huffed out on the edge of a nervous laugh, “do I get a safe word or what?” 

Randy barked out a bitter laugh, “Wouldn’t do you much good bitch. We’re gonna fuck that pretty ass of your six ways to Sunday whether you like it or not…and I’m pretty sure your not .”

Dean hissed through his teeth as his head was wrenched up by his hair, the sharp salty taste of sweat ignited his tongue as the man’s thumb plunged into his mouth and ran over his lips and teeth. “You keep these teeth to yourself boy. I have no problem pulling them out one by one and fucking into your bleeding gums,” he shook Dean’s head like he was a rag doll, “You hear me boy?”

Revulsion washed over him in a nauseating wave; Dean believed him. The truth of that statement striking his heart and crushing his soul as he knew he had little choice but to let them fuck his own mouth. He nodded.

“Good.” He released his mouth and Dean spat onto the ground, desperately trying to get that vile taste of the man’s skin out of his mouth. 

Dean wrenched his head away as Randy stood in front of him, pressing his dick into this face. He grabbed Dean’s jaw and lifted his face up, “Now you be a good little slut and suck my dick until its hard enough to fuck into that tight ass of yours.” 

Dean clenched his jaw, lips pressed into a thin line as the head of Randy’s dick rubbed against them. “Open up Dean, or I swear to you, we wont let you die.” 

A tiny whimper escaped Dean’s throat as a hopeless dread settled around him. Open up and let this man fuck his mouth, or they’ll do it for him. Either way he was fucked…and honestly, he’d like to keep his teeth when Sam showed up and saved his sorry ass. He slightly relaxed the muscles in his jaw, his lips softening as they parted. “That’s a good boy.” Randy hummed, shoving his cock into that gorgeous mouth. Dean immediately gagged at the taste, trying to keep his tongue from the sweat and cum he could smell on the fat dick. But Randy surged forward, thick flesh filling his mouth and sitting heavily against his tongue. 

“God yes! That fucking mouth was made for this!” Randy gripped the back of Dean’s head, holding it in place as he rocked his hips, thrusting into the trembling, wet muscles, Dean’s throat constricting, his gags and moans, every gasp for air sending vibrations along Randy’s hardening cock. “Fuck boy! I wanna fill your mouth with my cum so bad!” Thrusting twice more, he abruptly pulled out, dropping Dean’s head as he coughed and gagged. 

“Fucking son of a bitch!” Dean trembled, fighting down the bile that was building in the back of his throat. 

“You slicked me up nice and good baby,” Randy settled in behind him, spreading Dean’s cheeks, “Good thing, cause that’s all the lube you’ll be getting tonight.” 

“Fuck! Don’t!” Without the slightest hesitation, Randy forced two fingers deep inside Dean’s ass. A sharp gasp was interrupted by a pained, aborted scream as Dean clamped his jaw shut, desperately trying to not give these pricks the satisfaction of hearing him scream. But he would scream. This was going to hurt…bad. And Dean knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that Randy would make him scream until his throat bled. 

“Oh god,” Dean clenched his ass muscles, trying to lift his hips up and away from Randy; who was now brutally shoving three fingers deep inside. Randy prodded his fingers around the inside of Dean’s hole, scrapping at the flesh with his nails as he forced the tight muscles to loosen. Dean hissed through his teeth as Randy pulled out again. 

“Damn, boy! You feel so hot and tight in there. Gonna fuck that hole open just like I promised you.” Even though Dean had a pretty intimate idea, he was thankful he couldn’t see the size of the dick that was about to be rammed up his ass. 

Dean gave one last ditch effort to stop himself from being raped tonight, hoping against hope that he wasn‘t lying, “You do, and one way or another, I’ll find a way to kill you. And if I can’t, I swear to you…Sam will. And he’ll kill you slow.” 

Randy growled, voice thick with lust and hate, “Shut him up will you Cole.”

Dean jerked away as another dick forced his mouth open and was shoved down his throat, “My pleasure,” Cole laughed as he stroked the tape across Dean’s eyes and jutting his hips forward. “Good lord Randy, you weren’t kidding!”

As Dean was focusing on not suffocating around the cock shoved down his throat, Randy snapped his hips forward. His ass was ripped wide open and a scream fought to escape around the flesh stuffed in Dean’s mouth, causing Cole to throw his head back and groan loudly. 

Randy watched as his dick forced its way into that sweet ass, the tight flesh constricting and shuddering around his pulsating cock as it was swallowed by that aching heat. He thrust forward; pressing deeper and deeper until he was flush with the firm flesh and grinding his balls against the smooth, flawless skin, reveling in the keening, whimpering sounds Dean couldn’t hold back. 

“Fucking paradise!” Randy cooed; unable to control himself any longer, he gripped Dean’s hips, pulling halfway out and violently thrusting deep inside, each thrust forcing Dean forward and the cock in his mouth further down his throat. 

Each clench of Dean’s ass and twist of his hips sent electric heat up Randy’s dick; building with every thrust as he plunged deeper, blood easing the narrow passage. He buried himself inside the boy; reveling in the sensation of hot, wet flesh engulfing his aching cock. Each gasping breath and cry of pain forced out through Dean’s stuffed mouth spurred him on faster and faster until a wave of heat burned inside him and filled his dick. 

They rocked Dean back and forth, suspended from his arms, as the thick cocks stuffed him from both ends, brutalizing sensitive flesh and tearing his skin to bloody ribbons. Heat seared deep in his ass, muscles tearing to accommodate the pulsating cock plunging in and out of his tight hole. 

The cock deep inside suddenly grazed his prostate as Randy adjusted the angle of his hips. Dean moaned, his hips involuntarily pressing back onto the hard cock, seeking out that spark of primal heat. His moan turned into a choked whimper and Randy laughed, “Found your sweet spot did I boy?” Randy thrust rapidly, angling his dick perfectly to rub against that sensitive nub each time he plunged inside. Dean’s gasps of pain and screams turned into moans of pleasure and small keening noises as he fought to control his own body’s need. He rocked with them now, pressing down onto Randy’s dick and surging forward, taking Cole’s cock deep down his throat and sucking out of instinct as he rocked back again. 

“Fuck Randy! I don’t think I can last much longer,” Cole was groaning and gasping for breath, hips stuttering and hand groping, trying to fist Dean’s short hair and force his dick down the boy’s throat. 

“Go ahead Cole,” Randy gasped out, “I’m almost there.” 

Cole thrust deep into that sweet, wet mouth and came with a shout, shooting hot cum down Dean’s throat, snapping his hips as Dean was forced to swallow the thick mess, his spent cock twitching as he pulled out.

Dean choked and coughed, trying not to vomit up the spunk that now sat heavy in his gut. As he coughed, muscles clenching, Randy thrust deep, grunting out a frantic groan as he pumped his cum into his ass. Dean nearly gagged again at the sensation of thick, warm liquid shooting into his brutalized body and filling his insides. 

Randy wasn’t pulling out. He was still inside; rolling his hips as his spent cock twitched inside Dean’s bloody hole. His hands roaming over Dean’s sweat-slicked body, rough fingers gliding over the trembling muscles of his ass and thighs. The humiliation and shame was suffocating. He was unable to move, unable to fight, just hang there spread open and filled with cock. He couldn’t take it anymore; a horrible desperate ache surged through his body and sparked across his mind, igniting something within him that raged against the ropes and chains. 

“Get the FUCK out of me!” Dean growled out, hands twisting and pulling at the rope binding his wrists and holding him stretched taut, the perfect fuck toy. His ass clenched as it tried forcing out the sick intrusion. 

A deep laugh scrapped out of Randy’s throat as he leaned forward, grinding against Dean’s ass and dragging his head up by his hair. “You’re ass is mine to ride all fucking night you little bitch.” He dropped his head back to his chest and reached around to fist Dean’s aching dick. 

“Goddamn it! Get your fucking hands off me!” Dean squirmed against the rough touch, his dick twitching and hardening as Randy pumped his hand, angling his hips so his dick rubbed against that spot again and again. “Fuck! No!” His body wouldn’t stop moving, squirming, fighting against his bonds that wouldn’t budge. His cock filled and pulsed, the leather strap still securely wrapped around the base and his swollen balls hanging heavily between his legs. Randy barked out a sickening laugh as Dean gasped in a wave of pleasure as his hips involuntarily thrust into Randy’s hand, body seeking a release to the aching heat. “Stop. Please.” Dean whispered, tears finding their way out from under the tape and flowing down the sides of his face.

The hand paused its punishing rhythm. 

“What was that Dean?”

“Please…stop.” The words carried out on a whisper as he hung his head, hiding behind the darkness forced upon him. 

“Go get Meg.” Randy ordered as one of the others sprinted up the stairs. 

Dean’s ass clenched around the dick resting in his bloody hole, “Please get out of me…please.” Randy chuckled as he resumed grinding slowly against Dean’s ass, waiting for Meg. 

He heard her heals click down the stairs as she took in the sight before her. “Well, well, well,” she eased up to him, gripping his chin in her hand and yanking his head up, taking in the ruined, desperate face of the bane of her existence. 

“That’s all it took Dean? One dick in your ass and you break?” she tisked, “It’s gonna break Sam’s heart to see you begging so quickly.”

She released his jaw; his neck muscles barely strong enough to keep his head from slamming down onto his chest.

“Nick,” She called to the little punk with the camera, “I think that’s all for today.” Nick set the camera on a the edge of the stairs, angling it towards Dean and still recording. He eyed Dean’s trembling frame. 

“Can I at least…” gesturing towards Dean’s ass. 

Meg circled Dean, drinking in the broken, humiliation as he tried in vain to curl in on himself, still stuffed full of a writhing cock. “Maybe later. For now, I want you to go talk to Sam. Get him linked up to our little website.” 

“Me?” Nick squeaked out. Dean nearly laughed at the fear in his voice. 

Meg slowly turned towards the kid, “You’re fucking useless Nick,” voice vicious with contempt, “Randy can go with you. Just let him do the talking and you’ll be fine. Do you have a problem with that?” 

Nick choked on his words as he started up the stairs and away from Meg’s threatening gaze , “No...no problem. I’ll go get it ready.” 

“Good,” Meg grinned, turning her attention towards Dean.

Without the slightest warning, Meg lifted Dean’s wrists off the hook and let him slam onto the floor. Dean scream out in pain as the stiff muscles in his shoulders, back and arms tore in the opposite direction they’d been held in for so long. 

“Hey!” Randy whined, his cock sliding out of that bloody hole as Dean fell to the ground beneath him. 

“I don’t want to kill him just yet. You can fuck him again in the morning.” 

The thigh spreaders were removed next and, hearing the snick of a blade, Dean knew she was about to cut through his bindings. Now would be the perfect time to fight, but it was also perfect timing for Meg; she knew he couldn’t even raise an arm, much less actually stand and run out of this hellhole. 

She cut the rope from his hands and kicked him over onto his back, watching his face contort in pain, tears leaking out of his tightly bound eyes, his muscles spasming and cramping violently; deepening the beautiful contours of his firm body. 

Grabbing a fresh length of rope, Meg knelt down, straddling Dean’s stomach and tying his shredded wrists together again. Dean didn’t have enough energy to do more than lay there with detached interest as her fingers firmly coiled the rope and tied it off in an impossible knot. 

He grunted as she effortlessly dragged him by the wrists over to the far corner of the basement; looping a chain through the rope and locking it to a bolt in the wall near the side of his head, forcing him to stay sitting upright, his body pressing against his throbbing ass. 

He sat frozen as he felt her watching him, terrified she would let Randy bend him over and fuck him into the night. She reached out and roughly gripped his cheeks, fingers digging into skin, “You find a way to remove that cockstrap, and you’ll regret it. Understand?” Dean nodded against her painful grip. “Good.” She smiled, lightly smacked his face twice and walked back up the stairs without looking back. 

Randy grunted in displeasure at having to abandon his new toy, “We’ll be back bitch.” 

He listened as his rapists stomped up the stairs. At the sound of the door slamming and the lock sliding into place; Dean finally released the sobs that were choking him since he awoke surrounded by three horny men and one sadistic demonic bitch. He let the sobs wrack over his body; soaking up the pain and humiliation as he slipped into blackness.


	2. Blinded in Trust II

Dean jerked awake; instantly regretting his return to consciousness. His muscles constricting and trembling as his tired mind became aware of their raw ache; his ass instantly reminding him of how royally fucked he was. He groaned as he lifted his head off his bound wrists and leaned it back against the wall. He listened intently within the confines of the basement; he was still alone. A palpable hopelessness tightened his chest as he soaked in the state of his body and the dire situation he found himself in. Meg wouldn’t let him go; even if Sam said yes, and I’ll kick his fucking gigantic ass if he even thinks about it, Meg would still kill him. Or keep him. He shuttered at the thought. The loss of control, the torment, the humiliation and vulnerability that she demands he be subjected to. She always got off on tearing him apart. All Dean knew for certain was that Meg knew the Winchesters and she knew Dean; if she let him go, he’d dedicate his life to getting Sam back and finally eradicating the world of the demonic bitch that is Meg. She wouldn’t allow that to happen; not willingly at least. 

Rage began seeping into his very being; an unbearable, desperate need for control over his own body suddenly overwhelming him. Here he was, fucking Dean Winchester, tied to a fucking wall, bare ass naked and completely fucked out; leather tying off his own fucking dick, huddled in the corner of a dark fucking basement! He needed to do something; right fucking now! 

He was painfully aware that Meg was dead serious about leaving the fucking cockstrap alone…but she didn’t say anything about the duck tape. He ran his hands up the chain holding him to the wall, finding a small nick in the metal that just may be sharp enough to cut the tape. He shifted, dragging himself up a little further and sucking in a sharp breath as his raw ass slid across the floor. Finally pulling his face next to the chain, he began scrapping at the thick tape that stole away his sight. If he could get back his ability to gauge the situation, to see his attackers coming; maybe he could get that foreboding feeling to ease up a bit and let him fucking breath. 

The tape caught in the rough metal as he dragged the side of his face against it. A surge of adrenaline warmed his belly as it gave way, little by little, cutting through the thick, sticky material and tearing into his own skin. He reveled in the pain caused by his own hand; tendrils of hope and freedom lacing around his heart, renewing his strength. He knew it was irrational, that getting his eyes back wasn’t going to actually free him…but it may piss Meg off a little and that he could live with. 

It finally tore enough for him to get his fingers under the shredded edges and slowly peal it off his eyes; reopening a cut above his eye in the process as fresh blood trailed down his cheek. His eyelids opened tortuously slow, allowing a dim, gray light to filter through his lashes. His eyes clouded in and out, attempting to focus, to sharpen the blurry shapes into coherent images. Basement; it was a basement, with a steep wooden staircase, windows covered in an opaque film, low ceiling and hard floor. Blood trickled into his left eye and he winced as he wiped it away. He tentatively touched his fingers to the hot, swollen flesh. Sucking in a deep, cleansing breath, he let a little chuckle bubble out of his throat. The tiny raspy sound sent him into a fit of giggles, manly giggles of course; not having the damnest clue as to why it was so freakin funny. Giggles soon turned into a deep, belly laugh, clenching his sore stomach muscles as he tried to keep quiet…making him laugh even harder and tears streaming freely down his face. 'God he was loosing it!’ Exhaustion and the sheer elation at his small victory warmed his mind and eased the tension in his shoulders; laughter ebbing away again as he enjoyed the freedom of taking in his surroundings, of wiping tears from his blurry eyes. 

“I’m screwed Sammy,” Dean finally breathed out, his elation clearing to reality, “Hurry up and get me the fuck out of here and burn this place down. But if you can’t, then you leave me here and you run Sam. Whatever you do, just don’t get caught. I love you Sammy.” Dean sighed, turning his head to the side he decided he might as well start gnawing on the ropes…nothing else to do. 

Dean didn’t get very far on the ropes when the light flickered to life, burning his sensitive eyes, and the door to the basement flung open; slamming into the outer wall. Dean about jumped out of his skin; swallowing down a hard knot in his throat. “Shit,” breathed out in a whisper. 

A man stormed down the stairs looking pissed as all hell, by the sound of his steps he’s assuming that’s Randy; one of the other little fuckers right at his heals. Randy had a black eye, slice across his cheek and seemed to be favoring his right side. 

Dean smiled, “I’m guessing you met Sam.” 

Randy rushed up to him in three large strides and decked him across the face, nearly blacking him out right then and there. 

“Little brother said no.” Randy growled out as he pressed Dean against the wall with his knee and started unlocking the chain.

The implication of those four little words struck a cord of terror stuttering across Dean’s mind. He didn’t know how much more he could take. But a little red light caught his attention; the camera was still rolling and sending the images back to Sam. He desperately tried to control the fear etched in his face. 

“Good job, Sammy.” Dean gave a bloody, lop-sided grin and winked into the camera as Randy grabbed him by the wrists and hauled him to his feet. 

Before he could even register that he was standing Dean was slammed, chest first, onto the table the third guy had been busy dragging into the middle of the room; his ribs and lungs screaming in agony. The guy grabbed his wrists and pulled them across the rough surface, sporting a sick little smirk he couldn’t quite seem to wipe off his face. He fastened Dean’s wrists to a chain at the head of the table, pulling his hips tight against the other edge. Dean twisted and kicked as his ankles were pulled apart and chained to the table’s legs. Stretched taut and spread wide; again. 

Dean gasped in oxygen that did nothing but burn in his lungs like acid; trying to force down the panic threatening to choke him out and obliterate his mind entirely. Meg strolled into his view and silently leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. She bore this odd, slightly irritated yet still quite amused smirk on her face as she settled in to watch, an almost contemplative countenance about her. Dean’s focus swirled back to the men surrounding him. He grunted and squirmed as he was manhandled into the position Randy wanted him; feeling rough hands grasp his hips and pull him slightly back. His wrists burning and bleeding again as the abrasions reopened against the strain of the ropes.

He couldn’t fucking do this again. His ass was swollen and raw, completely fucked out from earlier, full of dry cum and thick blood. His cock still ached, pulsating with unfulfilled release each time his heart beat.

One of the men went to grab the camera, that fucking red light taunting him as it circled his exposed body, ensuring every bruise, every cut, every angle was clearly documented. The punk leaned into his face, the tiny camera capturing his battered features. Dean looked up at the lens; forcing all the pain, all the anger, every ounce of defiance he could muster deep into his eyes and giving his very best ‘you don’t know it yet but I’m gonna fucking kill you all’ face. 

The man behind the camera dragged his eyes from the screen to Dean’s face, his smile fading from his lips as Dean’s hate filled eyes burned into him. He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes from the man; strapped to a table, fucked out and spread wide but looking at him with eyes that promised a painful death. He took three steps back; his very soul convinced in that brief moment that this man could deliver on that promise. He wondered where the duck tape went; desperately wanted to cover those dark, hate-filled eyes, swirling with humiliation and vengeance. 

Meg pushed off the wall and walked over to Dean; gliding her cool hand up the muscles of his buttocks, down the small of his back to rest on his tense shoulders. “You can thank Sammy for this one Dean,” she leaned down, hot breath pressing against his face, “Sam saw what we did to you. He knew what would happen if he refused. And he still said no…without even the slightest hesitation.” 

She glared at him as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, making those fucking soul-searching eyes shine. 

She spun around and stomped to the corner, picking up a roll of duck tape. Dean’s smile instantly faded.

“No! Damn it Meg!” 

“Grab his head!” She barked out to Cole who was standing to his left. His head was wrenched up as she pulled a long strip of tape, tearing it off with her teeth. 

An irrational fear surged through his body and he fought with the ropes and chains strapping him down to the table. He’d almost rather take a dick up his ass than be plunged into darkness again as he was brutalized from every side. 

“Fuck!” Dean bit out through clenched teeth as she pressed the thick, sticky tape over his eyes, brutally pressing down and wrapping the excess around his head and back around his eyes twice over. 

Cole released his head and it slammed back down onto the table with a sickening thunk. 

Dean couldn’t breath, he lungs constricting in panic as he was immersed in darkness once again. 

“He’s all yours boys. Fuck him until he isn’t breathing anymore.” 

She turned and walked back up the stairs, listening to the beautiful sound of her name being called out, mingled with the pained groans of Dean Winchester and the sick slap of flesh pounding against flesh. 

Dean let himself be swallowed by the excruciating agony. He had learned the art of enduring pain in Hell. To dive into the depths of pure pain, drinking in the expansive heat as it lit every nerve on fire; consuming his body and incinerating his mind. Alistair had soon realized that Dean would only shut himself off like this when all options of fighting back were entirely removed. When he would strap him down, gouging out his eyes and cutting out his tongue, dancing his blade over and under his flesh; Dean had found a way to cope. He didn’t hide within the recesses of his mind as others would attempt to do; no, there was no hiding in Hell. Dean would…partake; he would wrap himself in the intensity of the pain, rolling it around his senses, absorbing the flavors, reveling in the sharp sting as the blade exposed raw nerve endings, allowing the pain to coil warmly around his entire being. 

Alistair, quickly becoming bored with Dean’s detached wonderment, would release him from the rack. He would undo the bindings and drop him to the floor; watching in fascination as Dean would almost instantly snap back to himself at the renewed freedom of choice and the chance to fight back. And Dean would fight every time; no matter how broken his body was, he would fight in true Dean Winchester fashion. Alistair preferred him this way; all guilt, and shame, and humiliation strewn across his face in a kaleidoscope of pain. Yes, those were the times Alistair truly delighted in the sessions he had with Dean; when he was Dean.

The three men took turns filming and fucking into his once tight hole; muscles now torn and stretched impossibly wide, flesh ripped apart and oozing blood, hole so full of cum it would leak down his thighs with each thrust. They loved the sounds he would make, whimpering and the occasional broken scream as their dicks dragged across raw nerves and open wounds. But, now, they were getting bored with their little fuck toy. They still had hours to play but Dean’s screams had ceased carrying that tantalizing edge to it. Instead, he seemed to be absorbing himself in the pain; screams coming out almost like moans of raw pleasure. 

Randy suddenly pulled out, not having even come yet this round, “I want him on the ground.” 

Nick looked at him curiously, “Why? It’s easier to fuck him over the table. My dicks already getting rubbed raw as it is. I don’t wanna fuck him on the concrete.” 

Randy moved to undue the chains holding Dean’s legs open, “Just unchain him will you! But keep his hands tied. You can get that raw dick of your sucked off once he’s off the table, how about that?”

Nick grinned wide, not yet having a chance at that beautiful mouth, and hurried to unlock the chain stretching Dean across the table; thoughts of that hot, wet mouth engulfing his dick about making him hard already. 

Awareness began to swirl around Dean; the searing, raw pain was always present, intensity increasing and decreasing in waves but never ceasing. He felt hands on his overly sensitive skin; around his bound wrists, gripping his hips and thighs, a hand on his shoulder as the tension on his body released and he was dragged off a rough surface and landed hard on the floor, agony igniting like a raging fire throughout his entire body. He heard himself groan, felt whimpers biting into his throat. As he attempted to curl in on himself, away from the threat of more pain, a realization struck his consciousness and plunged him into painful alertness. His attempts to move were no longer in vain, a fruitless effort of wasted energy as he struggled against unrelenting ropes and chains. No; he was free, free from the excruciating strain of being pulled taut and strapped to a hard wooden table, unable to fight as he was fucked in the ass. But now, with whatever menial reserves of strength he had left, he could finally attempt to fight back. 

Randy watched as the whimpering piece of meat crumpled to the floor, muscles quivering and arching in pain. He took a half step back when Dean’s face twisted into a snarl, a growl bubbling deep in his throat as he sensed the threat around him. He looked…feral. 

He kicked out with his foot, hitting Randy in the thigh with all the strength he had. 

Randy cried out in pained surprise and lunged at Dean, “You little fucker!” Dean fought blindly to get away, slamming his bound hands into Randy’s face, his feet scrambling to push back and against a wall that could help him stand. He felt so weak. His arms numb and heavy, his legs sluggish, his lungs screaming for air that his body was too panicked and enraged to fully supply. 

Dean barely dragged himself two feet before Nick slammed into him, pinning him on his stomach with his arms crushed underneath him and pressing his naked body over Dean’s in an attempt to subdue him. Dean could feel Nick’s half hard cock against the small of his back and his hot breath on the side of his face as Nick fought to control Dean’s writhing, broken body. 

Randy stood up and wiped the blood from his possibly broken nose across his face. He shoved Nick off Dean and took his place, wrapping his strong arms firmly around Dean’s broad shoulders as he struggled. It took every ounce of strength he had to control the man they had just fucked for hours and should have been nothing but a weak, malleable little piece of ass. Randy had wanted to pin him on his back, lift his legs over his head and fuck him as he looked into that beautiful face. He was quickly realizing this was not going to happen with Dean putting up such an impossible fight. 

Randy was able to capture Dean’s bound hands and pinned them to his chest, utilizing every muscle in his strong arms as he held him tight from behind. Randy suddenly didn’t want him malleable anymore; he wanted to feel him struggle, his muscles clenching and twisting around his swollen dick as he fought for control. He wanted Dean to ride his dick like a the cockslut he simply had to be…there was no way in hell Dean never put those perfect lips to their proper use before and riding some guys dick in a back alley wasn’t far behind. 

He angled his hips and shoved his full length into Dean in one quick thrust, desperately wanting his dick encased in that wet, pulsating hole. 

“NO!” Dean screamed out in a shattered sob as he dropped his head to the floor, gritting his teeth as that huge cock filled his shredded, bloody flesh once more. 

Randy lifted Dean up onto his knees, ass speared onto his dick as he pressed him down into his lap, that firm buttocks crushing Randy’s balls into his thighs. 

“Good god!” Randy moaned, reveling in the closeness of Dean’s entire body pressed firmly against his. 

Dean whimpered as his own body weight forced Randy’s cock to plunge deep into his ass. He tried to fight, to squirm and twist out of the tight hold but he no longer had the strength to do more than stimulate the thick cock in his ass to swell and throb as he struggled. His head fell back against the man’s shoulder and he could feel the jack-hammer of a heart beat against his back, the man’s hot breath washing over his shoulder. 

He let out a shuttering gasp as Randy rolled his hips, sporadically thrusting violently upwards, pressing Dean’s solid weight unto himself, their sweat mingling as it poured off coiled muscles, skin slick as their bodies slid against each other. A firm hand wrapped around Dean’s cock and he rolled his head forward; desperately longing for a way to remove Randy’s hand as it rubbed up and down the swollen, aching flesh. Pleasure burst behind his eyes as the flesh splitting him open brushed against his prostate and he clenched his ass muscles, forcing a groan out of Randy. 

Dean renewed his feeble struggles, trying to lift himself off the dick impaling him; his legs barely even twitching with the effort. The muscled arm wrapped around him tightened, constricting his breathing and holding him in place, fingers coiled in the bloody rope binding Dean’s shredded wrists.

Nick stood in front of Dean, watching as two fierce opposing forces thrashed against one another, fighting for control, for dominance. He marveled as one weakened, melting into the other as he was subdued by pain and pleasure, the two bodies melding into one as they began to synchronize their movements. 

“Nick,” Randy called out in the midst of near ecstasy, “Nick, fuck his mouth. Do it now.” 

Eyes blown and dripping with lust; he approached Dean, his hard cock in his hand. 

“No, please,” Dean whispered, barely enough strength to even be heard. The humiliation of allowing a man to shove his cock in his mouth, without fighting back, without biting down, was tearing him apart. Being tied down and fucked open was one thing…willingly parting your lips is another. 

Dean felt the tip of Nick’s dick brush against his mouth, smearing precum against his lips. He clenched his jaw tightly shut. Not again. Please not again. A hand roughly gripped his jaw, fingers digging into the side of his cheeks and forcing his teeth apart. “You happily sucked their dicks you little slut, you’ll suck mine or you did all this for nothing!” Dean opened his mouth with a broken sob, weeping in blackness as another thick, sweaty cock was shoved deep down his throat. 

He writhed between them, speared at both ends, thrusts forcing his ass to gape open and his mouth to swallow the pulsating flesh. 

A piercing sound breached the vile air surrounding them, making his ears ring and buzz; something warm and thick splashed across Dean’s face and chest. Nick couldn’t have come yet; his dick was still stretching his mouth wide. Slowly it slid from between his lips as he heard Randy curse behind him, Nick landing in a heap at Dean’s knees. 

Dean gasped in breaths of hot, muggy air, his mind trying to grasp what had happened when another sound shattered the air and Randy fell backwards, taking Dean with him. He cried out in pain as he hit the floor next to Randy, the firm arm encircling Dean’s body going slack. He moaned deeply, arching in pain, as he pulled himself off the cock in his ass and scrambled to the corner of the room. He hit the wall hard with his shoulder, bound hands searching for the leather constricting his aching balls and swollen cock. He found the end of the strap and pulled it loose, immediately flooding his dick with hot cum. He cried out, riding a painfully intense orgasm, spurting cum all over the floor. Dean curled in on himself, keeping his ass away from the open room and burying his head in his hands, terrified of whatever just happened and whatever was next. In his experience, when the game changed, it was never for the better. 

He jerked violently, pressing hard against the wall when large hands settled on his shoulder and bound wrists. He kicked out at whoever this new attacker was, throat too raw and swollen to properly scream out his usual threats of death and pain. 

The hands gripped his face tight, warm and strong, thumbs rubbing across his cheekbones. The chaos in his mind slowly cleared away as he heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Dean!” Sam called out to his brother, trying to reach him through the pained, frantic moans coming out of his throat. “Dean! It’s me! It’s Sam!” He watched as Dean’s face cleared and his thrashing broken body immediately stilled. His bruised and torn lips fell open like he was going to say something; but instead, his face crumpled as he reached out, taking Sam’s shirt in his hands and pulling him close. He buried his face in the nape of Sam’s neck, breathing in the warm scent of his brother as strong yet gentle arms encircled him, protected him, and he wept. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam wrapped his arms around the trembling, sobbing form of his big brother. When Sam had opened that basement door, he had been frozen on the top of the stairs for what seemed like an eternity. Two men were raping Dean while a third stood there completely naked and recording the sick bastards. A white hot rage filled his gut, spreading throughout his body, to the very tips of his fingers. He wanted to kill them slow, to rip them apart and skin them alive. But he had to get them away from Dean…now. 

They were so engulfed in Dean they didn’t even notice Sam creeping down the stairs and slide up behind the guy with the camera. In one swift motion, he grabbed the man on the side of his head and snapped his neck, catching his body as it slid to the ground. 

Sam pulled out his gun and took aim at the back of the head of the man thrusting his hips into Dean’s mouth. He took a deep breath to ease the nausea that rolled in his stomach and his shaking hands, nearly gagging at the smell; air thick with sweat and blood and cum. Rage swept over him once more at the sight before him. He tightened his finger on the trigger and pulled. All three bodies flinched and the man fell away from Dean, crumpling to the floor. Sam couldn’t look at Dean yet, he couldn’t see the wounded, pained expression on his face until this last fucker was dead. He looked at the man impaling this brother with his dick, Sam’s eyes so full of a lethal hate it sparked off of him in waves. He saw panic and fear in the man’s eyes, his hand still curled around Dean’s swollen dick. He said something Sam had no interest in hearing and he pulled the trigger. Blood splattered across the wall behind them and dripped down to the floor.

Sam’s head cleared, rage cooling in his gut, making his hands tremble and his stomach role. He watched in horror as his big brother crawled away, scrambling for his dick; crying out and coming in forceful bursts. He buried himself into the corner of the room, making his body as small as possible. The sounds that came out of his mouth tore at Sam’s heart, tears springing up and burning the back of his eyes. “My god Dean,” he could barely even hear his own voice. 

Dean’s body was covered in blood, on his face, streaming down his arms and coating his legs. Bruises painted his flesh in a chaotic design; some a day old, some very recent. His lips were split and swollen. Tears streamed down from underneath the duck tape that wrapped his brother’s eyes. ‘God. Dean hated the darkness.’ 

Sam slowly moved forward and gently placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and hands. Dean instantly tried to fight and Sam had to choke back a sob at how weak his attempts were. “Dean! It’s me! It’s Sam!” He watched that broken face crumble and pull him close with his bound hands. He didn’t know how long he held him. Sobs wracking over his exhausted body. Sam tried more than once to grab the knife in his back pocket to remove that fucking tape, but each time he tried, Dean made this pitiful noise and clung even tighter. 

Sam held him close until his breathing, mercifully, evened out and the sobs faded to shallow whimpers and hitched breaths. He reached into his back pocket and breathed in a sigh of relief when Dean let him. He couldn’t stand allowing his brother to be immersed in darkness for even a moment longer. 

“It’s ok Dean,” he soothed as he opened the knife, “I’m just gonna cut away the tape ok?”

Dean stiffened, face pressing against Sam’s chest, but gave a tentative nod. 

“Ok, just stay still. This won’t hurt.” Sam slid the blade under the tape, stopping briefly when Dean quietly whimpered at the feel of the cold steel. The tape easily split apart as it slid over the edge of his knife. Sam gently took an edge of the sticky material and pulled it away from Dean’s eyes. Dean pressed them together as tight as he could, the tape pulling on his sensitive flesh once again. 

“Son of a bitch,” Sam growled out as he took in Dean’s battered face in it’s entirety. A deep gouge was now seeping blood over his left eye, which was completely swollen shut. The flesh on his right cheekbone was bruised a deep shade of purple and dark blue. Black shaded underneath his eyes, the rims of his eyelids red and raw.

Sam reached up and held Dean’s face in his hands. “Dean. Dean, open your eyes. You’re ok, just open your eyes.” 

Dean released Sam’s shirt and wrapped his hands around Sam’s wrist, holding on for dear life. Fresh tears leaked out the side of his eyes and he slowly opened them and looked into the liquid warmth of his little brother’s eyes. 

“Hey,” Sam whispered, “I‘m gonna getcha out of here, ok?”

Dean nodded, his face twisting as he fought to hold back the desire to curl up in his brother’s arms and just cry until he passed out. 

“Good,” Sam gave him a crooked little smile and rubbed the side of his face with his thumb. “I’m gonna cut these ropes off alright?” Dean nodded again and leaned into the hand on his face as Sam picked up the knife.

Sam tried to focus on not nicking his brother as he cut the rope away while flicking his eyes up to look at Dean. Dean’s eyes were sluggish but fixed on Sam’s face, his brow creased in what looked like concern. The moment he got his hands free, Dean reached up and wiped at the tears Sam hadn’t even realized were streaming down his face. 

Sam looked into the storm swirling in his brother’s eyes. 

Dean opened his mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips and swallowed painfully, “You ok?”

Sam huffed out a laugh and grabbed the back of Dean’s head, pressing their foreheads together. Dean slid his hand up and gently squeezed the back of Sam’s neck as they just sat there, tears flowing down their faces but finally together…safe. 

Dean pulled slightly back, “You’re such a girl, Sammy.” 

Sam smiled and took off his coat, wrapping it around Dean’s shoulders, “Shut up Dean.” 

Darkness clouded over Dean’s face, “Did you see?” he whispered, hanging his head low. Sam felt the tremors running over Dean’s body and pulled the coat tighter.

“Yeah. Yeah, Dean I saw. Meg, she uh…she sent a video.” 

Dean started shaking all over, gasping air into his lungs in hitching breaths. 

“Breathe, Dean,” Sam rubbed his back in soothing circles, holding him close, “Just breathe. Meg’s not coming back, ok. She’s gone.”

Dean stilled at that; lifting his head up and catching Sam’s evasive gaze, “What’d you do?” 

Sam looked away, trying to avoid his brother’s searching eyes. Grabbing at his bag he’d dropped at their feet.

“I brought you some clothes Dean,” Sam pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms, a pair of socks and a hoodie, carefully avoiding Dean’s eyes.

Dean fisted his hand in Sam’s shirt, giving it a weak tug, “Sam! What did you do?” 

“We can talk about it later Dean. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Sam!” Dean demanded, staring at his brother. He didn’t drink. He couldn’t have.

Sam looked into Dean’s eyes, pleading with his brother to understand, “They were raping you Dean,” he whispered on a breath, “I had to find you. I had to stop them.” 

“Damn it Sam!” He had fought, as hard as he could, and Sam drank that bitch’s blood anyways…just like before…just like after Hell. Dean pushed against Sam. He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t break himself over the rocks again and again, only to watch the only thing he loved throw himself into the pit with him. 

Sam felt his heart rip apart when Dean weakly shoved at Sam’s chest. Sam knew; he had seen everything. Meg didn’t just send a video, she’d sent two fucking douche bags with a website address and instructions. They had their guns drawn and told him to sit in front of his laptop. He’d struggled when the bigger of the two came up behind him and wrapped his thick arm around his neck, pressing the barrel of the gun to his temple. But he needed to know what they wanted; they had Dean and he had nothing to bargain with. His world clasped when the other man clicked on that fucking website. It was a streaming video. Had to be on some kind of delay because he recognized one the men that was circling his strung up brother as the man now pinning him to the chair. Sam stilled when a woman appeared on the screen, sucking in a breath when she called herself Meg. Sam watched and listened as she taunted Dean with a message for Sam’s ears. The next moments were the longest of his entire life. Sam’s eyes widened in horror as the men approached Dean. Sam cursed and struggled against them as they held him down, forcing him to watch. And he did, he watched and he wept as those sons of bitches brutally raped his big brother. They had raped Dean!

The moment the arm across his neck eased up, Sam attacked. He spun around and hit the man hard across the face, sending him sprawling on the floor and his gun skittering under the coffee table. Sam lunged at him, pinning him to the ground. Blind rage consumed him as he pounded into the face of the man that had fucking raped his brother, completely forgetting about the other guy in the room. White light exploded behind his eyes when the butt of a shotgun slammed into his temple. Blackness coloring the edges of his vision as he nearly fell on top of the man beneath him. He was stunned enough for the fucker to get out from under him and scramble away from Dean’s ‘little’ brother. Sam stumbled after him, drawing his knife and managing to slice across the man’s face before he sunk to his knees as his consciousness attempted to retreat. 

The man ran to the door, hand pressed to his bleeding and swollen face, “You just killed your brother Sam! I’m gonna bend him over and fuck his ass until he can't scream any more!” 

Sam pulled himself off the floor, stumbling forward in a dazed attempt to keep these fuckers from getting to Dean. He took two wobbly steps and was cracked in the side of the head again with the shotgun and crumpled to the floor; fading into unconsciousness with tears streaming down his face. 

13 hours later and 37 hours since Dean was taken; Sam was pouring over the small amount of information he had been able to accumulate, Bobby was out scouring the town for the fifth time, and out of the corner of his eye…Sam was watching the trembling form of his brother curled up in the corner of a dank basement, hands chained to the wall and blindfolded, Sam’s ears wanting to bleed at every whimper that escaped Dean’s nightmares. Then there was a light knock at the door.

Sam opened the door to Meg’s smug ass face. That same twisted smile she always carried corrupting the pretty girl’s face. Sam’s abilities sparked to life as he sensed the demon, his old talents still lingering on the fringes of his own abilities; once the switch was flipped, it was kind of hard to flip it off again. 

“Going to invite me in Sam?” 

He stood there for a moment, weighing his options, calculating the risks, painfully aware of the consequences should he say no. Sam brushed his shoe across the salt lining the door and stepped back, allowing her to enter. Sam heard the sound of chains and quiet moaning coming from his laptop; Dean must be waking up, or rather he woke up a while ago. Sam kept forgetting the recording was on a delay, that he couldn’t stop whatever horrors Dean was experiencing because it had already happened. It was driving him crazy. 

“I hope you rethought my offer Sammy. You haven’t seen it yet but Dean paid brutally for you attacking my men. Hell, he's probably still paying for it.” Meg strolled around the room, pausing at the laptop and running her fingers along the surface. She’d timed it perfectly. Any minute the video would be revealing the consequences of Sam’s refusal; and Meg desperately wanted to watch that realization cross Sam’s face. “Dean, he bleeds so pretty…don’t you think.”

“You don’t fucking talk about him!” Sam was having an extremely difficult time not tackling this bitch and beating the shit out of her here and now, no matter how futile that may be. “You let those men rape him Meg! And you want what from me!” 

Meg slowly turned from the pitiful sounds barely registering in the tiny speakers and looked up at Sam. He shuttered at her gaze; she seemed to be about ready to devour him…or tear him to bloody pieces at least. God knows she’d enjoy either scenario. 

“I want you to be what my father wanted you to be Sam. To use the gifts he gave you. You think you were powerful with that little sluts blood running through your veins; just imagine what you could become with my father’s blood.” She spoke with reverence, with an awe that was enchanting. If he didn’t know there was pure evil at the root of her adoration he would nearly be compelled to give in to her, simply to experience the wonders she was envisioning behind her eyes. 

“Lucifer would destroy you Sam. The sole purpose of your strength, of your abilities, would be in containing the sheer power of the devil and nothing more,” Meg eased up to Sam, placing a cold hand on his arm and circling him as she talked, “But if you drank my blood Sam, it would only enhance your power. You would be able to fulfill your true potential Sammy. You could easily dispatch all of your enemies with a single thought. Not a soul in Heaven or Hell could match you.” 

“Yeah?” Sam huffed in contempt, “And what about Dean?”

Meg smirked and circled around to face him, hands exploring his overheated skin and firm muscles, “He’d be whatever you’d want him to be Sammy…he just couldn’t be free.”

Sam quirked his eyebrow, not understanding where she was going with this.

“Sam, he would be yours to do with as you wish,” she leaned up, brushing her lips across his, leaving a tingling sensation his entire being almost intrinsically sought to experience. His head feeling heavy and clouded as he fought an intense desire sweeping over him. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to hers, breathing in the power that coursed through her veins. He nipped at her lip, wanting, desiring to taste more of her. Meg moaned as he bit harder, his tongue seeking out the sulfuric, copper taste of her blood. Images suddenly exploded behind his eyes and flooded his mind, thoughts that were not his own, thoughts of Dean; pale white skin peppered with freckles smooth under his touch, firm, coiled muscles writhing against him, full, bruised lips wrapped around his thick cock, his big brother submissive beneath him. 

Sam abruptly pulled back, breathing heavily and fighting with whatever was flooding his senses. Meg gazed into his eyes, pupils blown with lust and desire, “I know for a fact Sam, that your big brother makes for an excellent little fuck toy if you’d like.” 

Sam gripped her arms and threw her across the room. He was on her in seconds, knife in hand and cutting a deep gash across the side of her neck. He smothered her gleeful laughter with his hand and covered the wound with his mouth, sucking and lapping at the blood, the power that flowed out of her, incredibly stronger and more potent than Ruby’s blood had ever been. Untapped, uncontrolled power flooded his mind, clouding his senses and raging within his body, pumping into his heart and back out again. The blood and power felt heavy, sparking white hot throughout his body, electricity surging inside of him. 

And then…he heard Dean. God was Dean giggling? Sam immediately wrenched himself off of Meg. He stood there, looking down at her smug face, trying to push all the vile images of his brother to the back of his mind as he listened to Dean laughing hysterically, groaning in pain as the laughter undoubtedly seized his battered muscles. Then he heard his name, Dean speaking to Sam, asking for help and telling him to run if he couldn’t find a way to get him out, always protecting his little brother. In that moment, Sam remembered why he had let Meg in the door, why he had planned on drinking her vile blood. He clamped down on the corrupted images that were of Meg’s creation; grinding them to dust; reining in the intoxicating lust that had burned through him at the thought of Dean’s deep green eyes, pleading in pain but all too willing to please. No, this wasn’t Sam; this was Meg.

Sam reached out his hand, pushing power through and out of him, curling it around the demon’s neck. She gasped out in fear, realization stricken across her face as he lifted her from the floor and slammed her thin body into the wall, cracking the plaster. He coiled the power around the demon writhing inside that girl’s body, constricting every single tendril of darkness he could see…and yes, he could see it. He could see the demon within the body, the evil that permeated the flesh, and he squeezed every inch of it tighter with each pulse of it’s power. 

Thick, swirling pools of black filled Meg’s eyes as she gasped for breath, “That my boy Sammy! Do you feel that? Don’t you see what you could become?” 

“I know what I am Meg. I’m Dean’s little brother. And that’s all I’ve ever needed to be,” Sam curled his hand into a fist, increasing the immense pressure crushing the demon, “and I want to know where he is! Right the fuck now!” 

The sound of a struggle reached Sam’s ears through the fog of Meg’s blood and he flicked his eyes to the screen. 

Dean's tortured voice scrapped out of the speakers, “Good job, Sammy.” Sam saw the proud smile that was saved just for him cross Dean’s face as he was lifted up and throw onto a table. His hands stretched out in front of him and chained to the table, his legs spread wide. 

Meg drank in the sight, a sadistic laughter bubbling out of her throat in hitched gasps as her own voice came out of the speakers, taunting Dean and leaving him to his torment. 

Sam smirked at his brother’s defiance and tightened his grip, “You have no idea what you did do you Meg,” focusing all his power solely on the demon at his mercy, he began lighting her on fire from the inside out. 

Meg cried out in pain, searing heat and an excruciating fire of electricity slicing through her. 

“Where’s my brother?”

The pain was like nothing she had ever experienced, not on Earth or in Hell’s endless depths of agony. No wonder Alistair broke. 

“Saaa-. Please.”

“WHERE?”

Meg screamed in agony, thrashing against the wall.

“A house…ba-…basement.”

“No shit Meg! Address!”

“…corner…8th and…Fr-…Freemont. Sam….don’t…”

“You’ve fucked with our family for the last time bitch.” Sam closed his eyes and pulled every single spark of electricity from his body and twisted it around the oily darkness. Meg cried out, screaming for Sam to stop, but the only sound that reached his ears were his big brother's screams in the background. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was staring at him, begging him to say he didn’t drink Meg’s blood. But he couldn’t lie, not anymore, not to Dean. 

“Dean, I’m not sorry,” Dean looked away and Sam gently put his hand on the side of his face, begging him to listen, “Dean, you have to trust me. Please. I couldn’t loose you again and Meg knew where you were. I couldn’t find you Dean. I couldn’t save you ,” Tears gathered in the corner of Sam’s eyes once more when Dean refused to look at him and he dropped his head, all strength draining out of his body. He was sure Dean hated him now. Once again, he went through Hell only to find out Sam had betrayed him; turned to evil as his only option without his larger-than-life big brother at his side. He was weak and he knew it. Dean should hate him.

Sam flinched slightly when Dean simply buried himself in Sam’s chest; weakly reaching his arm up and around his neck in a half hug. Sam sat there stunned for just a moment, then wrapped Dean in his arms; pulling him close. He’d expected Dean to crawl away from him, demand he stand by his own strength and walk out on Sam for letting him down once again. But instead, it was Sam’s turn to weep when Dean whispered against his chest, “I do trust you Sammy.” 

They eventually pulled away from each other laughing softly, Sam wiping his eyes and Dean making some off handed comment about ‘chick flick moments’ becoming a problem. Dean was exhausted and weakening quickly. Sam helped him get the clothes on agonizingly slow, the fact that Dean refused to let go of Sam making dressing him extremely difficult. Once Dean was snuggled in the warm clothes, he laid his head in the crook of Sam’s neck, breathing in the scent of his hair; wrapping one arm around his waist and holding onto the front of Sam’s shirt with the other. Sam carefully lifted Dean to his feet and half carried him out of that rank, bloody basement. 

Sam gently placed Dean next to him in the Impala, laying his head on his lap, Dean’s hand absently caressing the leather of his baby, drawing whatever comfort he could from her solid strength. Sam drove as fast as he could, tears springing in his eyes as small groans and whimpers carried over the sound of the Impala’s engine every time they hit a bump in the road or eased a little too roughly to a stop. 

Sam rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder, finally allowing himself to breath once he felt Dean fade into unconsciousness, his breathing evening out. Pain still creased his eyes and formed tight lines around his mouth but he was finally asleep; damaged, bruised, bleeding, but not broken. 

Dean had threatened pain of death if Sam took him to the hospital. Sam knew he would be utterly humiliated to have people know even a fraction of what had happened to him; but there was too much blood, on the floor of that basement, on Dean, seeping into the leather of the Impala. So he called Bobby the moment Dean was unconscious and headed straight for St. Mary’s. Dean would wake up, loopy from pain meds and pissed as all hell, but with Sam by his side. And Sam knew it would all be ok. Because they had each other, and Dean trusted his little brother.


End file.
